


Tumblr Prompts

by cowboynuts



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Harm, Smut, TB but with recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboynuts/pseuds/cowboynuts
Summary: A collection of works based on prompts received on my tumblr @cowboynuts !!





	1. Self Harm Scars

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: you think you could write arthur comforting a male reader abt his self harm scars? idk, its okay if you think its too ooc or you aint comfy writin it. I love your works dude

It wasn’t uncommon for either of you to take time sitting alone in the outskirts of camp. Basking in the quiet, peaceful moments in the hot lull of the day. Sometimes a book or notebook in your lap— other times nothing at all except the soft company of rustling wind in the trees. Today was different, though. Instead of seeking out quiet time to think and relax, you were scrambling for somewhere to hide. The days were getting colder the more the leaves had started to change, and you pulled your coat tighter around you with balled, shaking fists. Tears stung at your eyes but refused to fall. You set your jaw and fell back to the ground heavily. Your back pressed back against a big tree trunk and you let your arms connect together as you brought your knees up to your chest. Being an outlaw took strength— both physical and mental. Always being tough and indestructible. Arthur was more of the tough one between you two, though. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you choked on a silent sob. Arthur was definitely the stronger one. 

You felt the weight of your hunting knife on your side and dug your nails into the soft leather of your coat. It had been so, so long. Still, the urge was a dull ache that you couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard you tried. You took the hilt and unsheathed the knife, pausing briefly before throwing it hard to the side. It clattered against the ground and leafs and the resulting noise caught a wandering Arthur’s attention. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You sniffed and wiped your nose, “Hi.” 

He knelt down in front of you, his hands hovering but not quite sure where to place them or how to comfort you. You nuzzled harder against your arm and sobbed again, trying to regain composure. 

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice was gentle but panicked, “Hey, now. What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

He finally settled on resting his hands over yours, his thumbs anxiously stroking over your skin. You shrugged and looked up at him finally. He was blurry but you could see the pain and worry in his face at seeing you like this. It just made your chest ache more. You weren’t strong like him, you were nothing but a burden that he had to look after. 

“ _ Hey _ ,” Arthur’s voice pierced the thoughts you hadn’t realize you got lost in. You started and met his eyes again, having drifted off to gaze into nothing. He smiled softly at you and squeezed your hands, “What’s goin’ on in that head of yers?” 

You shrugged again, but your lip, “I just… Feel so weak. Like I keep bringin’ everyone down.” 

You paused, gnawing at the inside of your cheek and speaking again before you could think about it, “‘Specially you.” 

“Oh, my sweet boy. You ain’t weak.” 

Arthur moved to sit next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders and pulling you against him. You welcomed the gesture and curled against his chest. His warmth and scent enveloped you and you instantly felt calmer. His chest rumbled comfortingly under your cheek when he spoke again, holding up your hunting knife. 

“You throw this?”

You nodded and Arthur hummed his approval with a kiss to the top of your head, “‘M proud of you. I know… I know it ain’t easy.” 

He dropped his hand to let it rest over your clothed arm. The pads of his fingers pushed lightly on where he knew the scars littered your skin and you curled inward guiltily. He leaned back and used his hand to lift your chin gently. His eyes met yours and he spoke firmly but with tenderness behind it, “Listen to me. This?” 

He gestured at your arm and you winced and he spoke softer in response, “This don’t make you weak. I can’t… I can’t even imagine what it’s like. So I won’t pretend I do. But this? You? It ain’t weak. You’re the strongest man I know. And I mean it.” 

You sniffled and looked away, “Thank you, Arthur.” 

His fingers stroked your cheek gently and for a man who pretended to be tougher and harder than the rest, his touch was so soft and light. You leaned against his palm and his smile lit up his eyes with how genuine it was. 

“If you feel bad again you come talk to me, alright? I know the last couple weeks been real hard. But I think the worst of it is over now.” 

You leaned your head against his shoulder with an exhausted sigh, “Alright.” 

Both of you sat in silence for a moment and then Arthur spoke again— his voice soft and affectionate, “You ‘nd me are a team. We’re stronger together than apart. Don’t forget that.” 

You blinked, taken off guard. This was a side of Arthur you only got to see every blue moon. He was always sweet towards you, but the forwardness of his affections was few and far between and something hard for him to express. You looked up at him and caught his cheeks dark with a blush. You smiled and leaned against him, “I won’t. Thank you, Arthur. Really.” 

He rested his chin on your head, “Anytime, darlin’.” 


	2. Bath Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: arthur getting a bath and requesting one of those women who wash you up but instead a male comes in. that'd be a juicy read.

“I already got someone warming it up for you.” 

Arthur tipped his hat slightly as he strolled to the back of the building. His limbs ached and, even for a man who often went weeks without bathing, he felt  _ disgusting.  _ He stripped quickly and sunk low in the scorching hot water. It was almost too intense, but the sweet hot relief that washed over his sore muscles kept him from pulling out of the sudsy water. He let his head drop back against the porcelain with a sigh and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a few moments— letting himself really relax for the first time in god knows how long. A soft knock on the wood door made him jump slightly, and he responded before she could even speak, “Alright, sure.” 

The past few weeks had been rough. His feet ached and he hadn’t had a proper hot meal in days.  _ A little bit of pampering would be more than fair, _ he reasoned with himself with a satisfied smile. 

What he was not prepared for, however, was the bathboy that walked in. He was younger than Arthur and had short, black hair that curled against his neck. A light blue dress landed just above his knees and the brown doe eyes that met Arthur’s made his heart stop. His jaw went slack, “I-uhhhhh…” 

“I hope this is alright, mister,” the younger man smiled shyly with a light blush on his cheeks, “All the other girls were busy.” 

“I-I um. Sure, I guess.” 

The bathboy smiled and skipped a little over to the side of the tub. Arthur could feel his jaw still hanging and closed it harshly with a  _ snap _ . The man chuckled and rested his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. He started massaging them and Arthur let himself relax. It was a new sensation— the bigger, tougher hands against his bare skin— but it wasn’t bad. Just different. 

A hand slid down Arthur’s arm, lathering soap into his skin. His thumbs rubbed Arthur’s hand intently, probing the worn muscles and Arthur let his head fall back against the tub again with a satisfied grunt. 

“Yer real tense, musta needed this bath, huh?” 

“You got no idea,” he drawled.

The bathboy smiled, “Well, glad I could help.” 

Arthur huffed in response, his own cheeks flushing at the kindness. He swallowed thickly and let the man continue to wash him. His hands scrubbed his broad chest and Arthur prayed he couldn’t feel his heart hammering away under the touch. 

When the man began washing his legs and his touch grazed Arthur’s inner thigh, he felt the warmth in his cheeks as he tensed up. It was just a natural reaction to being touched, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything. The man seemed to sense that Arthur was uncomfortable. 

“I can stop... if you’d like.”

“No,” Arthur cleared his throat and avoided the man's gaze, “No, uh, it’s alright. It’s just…” 

He clenched his jaw and felt his face go red.  _ Dammit, Morgan.  _

“Oh…  _ Oh _ .” 

Arthur chewed at the inside of his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut. There’s no way this was happening to him. He felt fingers graze his cheek and he snapped his eyes open. The man was looking right into his eyes and he spoke softly, “I can help you with that, too... if you’d like.”

Before Arthur could even begin to process what that meant, the man was kissing him. His lips were chapped and tougher than anything he was used to. Without thinking, Arthur brought a hand up to the man’s jaw and felt the rough stubble under his palm. A tongue prodded against Arthur’s lips and he parted them gratefully with a groan. His senses were overwhelmed and it felt like his head was spinning. A hand fell to his hip and Arthur jolted away at the contact, his eyes flying open. 

A canvas tent flap filled his vision and he sat up cautiously. Sounds of normal camp chatter and chores filled his ears and he blinked slowly. He was in his tent. Must have fallen asleep in the warm afternoon heat. He scraped a hand across his face wearily with a groan. 

“You okay, Arthur?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, just a… a weird dream.” 

“Huh. Wanna talk about it?” 

Arthur laughed, “No. I don’t.” 


	3. Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: could you write a male reader where arthur gets sick with TB and the reader ends up making arthur leave the gang (or something like that) to get better. happy ending :,)

“Arthur, we have to get out. We have to  _ leave _ .” 

“(Y/N), I--” Arthur cut off in a fit of coughing, blood painting his pale fingers as he pulled them away from his mouth. He wiped them quickly on his pants in an effort to hide it and you just shot him a glare. He sighed exhaustedly and scraped his hands across his face. He leaned against you and you moved to let him lay his head in your lap. The crackling fire was the only sound in the late night aside from you and Arthur talking. You carded your fingers through his hair absentmindedly and felt him relax against you with another soft sigh. 

“All of this… Dutch ‘nd the rest of ‘em. It’s over, Arthur. We can give Abigail and John and Jack a chance but… It’s too late, now. We gotta leave while we can. Let you rest. That’s just…. That’s just the way it is, now. Seems like.” 

You cradled his cheek, feeling the hollowness and the sharp turn of his cheekbone. Part of you wondered if even this was too late for him-- but you cut that thought off abruptly. You were going to do everything you could to save him. He turned against your touch and kissed your palm softly, looking off into the distance. You knew he agreed with you, that he had already made up his mind. But actually doing it was another thing. 

“I can read you like a book, cowboy,” you murmured, smiling sadly at him, “Let’s get outta here, yeah?” 

He worked his jaw for a few moments before his piercing blue eyes met yours with a nod, “Alright.” 

* * *

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and adjusted to the dim, early morning light. The shapes of the cabin soon materialized; the stovetop, table, second bed that sat against the other wall, unused. The cold morning air nipped at your exposed skin and you wiggled under the covers, nestling yourself against Arthur’s back. He grumbled a little in his sleep but otherwise calmed and you smiled as his warmth radiated down to your bones. 

It had been about six months since the both of you had left the gang and four since working as a pair of ranch hands on a decent sized ranch in Big Valley. It didn’t pay much, but it was good, honest work. More than once, you and Arthur had talked about saving up for a ranch and place of your own. It was a bit monotonous at times, but you had Arthur with you and that was more than you could have ever asked for. You watched his sleeping frame in front of you, the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he slept. He was slowly broadening out between the manual labor on the ranch and eating good, hearty meals again. You forced him to rest as much as possible, feeding him and sitting with him as the days passed. Slowly-- so slowly-- but surely the color came back to his cheeks. He coughed less and less and started to be able to keep weight on again. The memories made your stomach churn but you reached out and placed a firm grip on his hip and smiled. He was here, now, healthier than ever and you two had made it. He rolled over groggily and pulled you against his chest, tucking your face against his neck and you chuckled quietly. 

“Time to get up, Art.” 

“Mmmm,” He nuzzled against your hair, “Five more minutes, darlin’.” 

“Come on, I’ll start the coffee.” 

You started to slide out from under him, but a big hand caught your arm and pulled you back. He laid on top of you, legs tangled together and his face buried down against the crook of your neck. 

“Arthur!” You giggled and felt him chuckle against you in response. He pulled back to kiss you sweetly and you wrapped your arms around his neck. He looked at you, light shining in his eyes again as he smiled. You stroked your thumb across his cheek tenderly, “You look good.” 

He hummed happily as he leaned into your touch and you couldn’t help the loving smile that came across your face. Your voice was soft as you whispered, “I love you.” 

He smiled again and kissed your forehead, “Love you too, darlin’.” 


	4. Patched Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: Hey could you do an Arthur Morgan x male reader with Arthur angrily patching up his boyfriend's wounds after reader got into a fight with someone he was warned about?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW on this one for homophobia and slurs

“Never took Morgan for a fucking cocksucker, but, well,” his lips curled into a wry smirk as he sneered, “guess you never really can tell-- can you?” 

You paused, fists balled tight against your side and jaw poised to snap. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears and you became acutely aware of the rapid rise and fall of your chest. For as much as you tried to gain control, you knew your mind was already made up. Arthur was gonna  _ kill _ you.

Micah snickered, “That’s right,  _ invert _ . Go on an’ crawl back to cowpoke with your tail betw--” 

His sentence was abruptly cut off as your fist connected against his nose with a satisfying  _ crunch _ . Micah stumbled backwards a few steps, holding his face in shock. After looking at the blood gushing against his hand and then back up to you, he squared his shoulders back and lunged for you. 

You both went tumbling towards the ground. White hot pain filled your skull as your head slammed against the earth and the skin on your lower lip split open with a good punch from Micah. He was straddling your torso, effectively pinning you down with his weight. You tried to land another good hit on him, but he blocked your hand and you grunted as his fist connected again just over your cheekbone. Your eyes widened in horror as Micah threw his coat back and palmed the butt of his revolver, a grin spreading across his face with blood glistening off his teeth. 

You gave a hard shove against his side at the same time you turned abruptly and managed to throw him off you. As you both rolled, Micah’s hand slid back to the hilt of his long hunting knife. You felt the blade slice through the soft flesh of your abdomen as you landed on top of him and couldn’t help the yell that ripped through your throat. He laughed darkly in response and your vision went blurry as you landed one, two,  _ three _ solid punches down onto him. Your bloody fist was raised for a fourth strike, the other gripping a fistful of his shirt, when you felt arms pulling you backwards. 

“Enough! Hey--  _ hey! _ I said that’s  _ enough! _ ”

  
You recognized Charles’ voice among the many others shouting and looked down to see it was his arms pulling you away from the fight. Micah was being dragged away from you by another member of the gang and you managed to get a solid kick against his shin in before being pulled too far away. 

“You fucking little--” Micah broke free and tried to lunge for you, but Charles stepped in front of you and placed a strong hand at the front of his shoulder to stop him. Micah let out a grunt at the sudden force and sneered.

“ _ Don’t _ .” 

Micah scoffed and turned to spit on the ground in response. He met your eyes again and his nose curled up in disgust, “Try that shit again when no one’s round an’ see what happens.” 

He wiped at the blood dripping off his chin and turned to walk the other direction, muttering as he went, “ _ Fucking invert. _ ” 

You ran your tongue across your lower lip and cringed as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. Feeling the ache begin to settle into your body, you turned to face Charles with a pained grin, “Thank you, Charles. I can’t fucking stand him.” 

He crossed his arms and shook his head, “Neither can I, but you don’t see me beating his face into the ground.”

“It’s not the same. He just-- I shouldn’t have to put up with that just ‘cause of who I love.” 

“Love?” Charles raised an eyebrow teasingly.    
  


“You know what I mean,” you nudged his shoulder playfully, “It’s bullshit and I’m not gonna put up with it.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Arthur on this. He can be dangerous, (Y/N). Just stay away from him, alright?”

You sighed, exhausted, “Yeah, alright.” 

“Good. Now, you better go get some rest. Micah might not have killed you, but Arthur sure as hell will when he gets back later and sees you.” 

You groaned and headed for your tent. You knew he was right and you were  _ not _ looking forward to it. 

* * *

“ _ Fuck! _ ” You cursed under your breath as you prodded the sensitive skin around your wound. The cut across your abdomen caused by Micah’s knife was painful and looked to be just deep enough to constitute stitches. Judging by the blood-soaked rags that littered the bed-- it was better to be safe than sorry. Holding another rag against the gash, you stood to rustle around your tent for the small box of emergency medical supplies you kept. You let out a grunt as you sat back down on the bed with the kit in hand. You pulled out what you needed and started to carefully thread the needle with your stitching material. 

Suddenly, you heard the canvas of the tent flap rustle open and the sound of Arthur’s harsh drawl soon followed, “What the  _ hell _ were you thinking, boy?”

“I’m a little busy right now,” you replied without looking up, not wanting to meet his undoubtedly furious stare. 

“Christ, (Y/N),” Arthur’s hand gently curled around your jaw and tilted it up to study your face, “What did he do to you?” 

You finally met his gaze and saw the worry in it, despite the hard set of his expression. His blue eyes were soft and-- regardless of how much as he was trying to hide it--  _ scared _ , and you could tell how tired he was. You reached up to touch his hand lightly and his entire body seemed to sag in response. 

“M’okay, it looks worse than it feels.” 

He shook his head with a bitter laugh as he moved to sit in front of you, “You’re a shitty liar.” 

“Only to you,” you let him move everything away to look at the bleeding wound. His fingertips barely grazed over your skin as he examined the cut and you shivered in response. You’d seen Arthur beat, torture, and kill other men with the same hands. But the way he touched you was full of life and care and love-- nothing like those things he’d done to other men. It felt…  _ wrong _ the more you thought about it, so you shook the thought out of your mind and instead spoke up softly, “Think it needs stitching?” 

He looked away with a sigh, “Think so. Gimme that.” 

You handed him the needle and thread and Arthur motioned for you to lie down. He kneeled down next to the cot as you did, hovering over your hip. He took a minute to position himself and wipe the blood from your skin and then he poised the needle to start stitching. It pierced your skin and you winced but otherwise laid still quietly. Arthur made quick work of it, stitching you closed neatly and with minimal pain. 

When he was done, he sat back on the ground with a sigh and rested his arms on his knees, “You’re a huge dumbass, you know that?” 

You clenched your jaw, staring up at the ceiling of the tent.  _ Great, here comes the lecture _ .

“Hey,” Arthur leaned forward and hit your arm lightly, “I’m talkin’ to you. You understand how stupid and reckless that was?” 

You snorted, “ _ You’re _ gonna lecture me about being stupid and reckless?”

He set his jaw firmly and squared his shoulders back in defense, “Micah would have killed you if he had the chance. Charles told me he tried to draw on you.” 

“Did he also tell you that Micah called you a fucking ‘cocksucker’ an’ me a ‘invert’? Or that he practically started the fight?”

“You punched  _ him _ .”

“That don’t matter--”

“It does!” Arthur cut you off, anger rising in his voice, “Don’t you get it, (Y/N)? He’s dangerous-- he’ll kill you if he gets the chance. Just cause he’s a piece of shit don’t mean you get to go around starting fights and gettin’ yourself killed.” 

“I’m not dead, Arthur.”

“What if he had cut deeper, huh? Better yet, what if he was able to draw an’ get a shot in, then what? Instead of stitching up a silly wound I’d get to be burying a body right now!” 

You sat up sharply in anger, hissing in pain as your stomach muscles tightened. Arthur leaned forward concernedly a bit at your sound of pain but stayed sitting on the ground. You had one hand pressed against the now-stitched wound and you looked up at Arthur, your eyes filling with tears of pain and frustration. 

“You don’t understand, do you? It ain’t about Micah, Arthur. It’s about how I shouldn’t need to be afraid anymore. How we shouldn’t need to hide away.”

Arthur’s expression softened as you looked down at the floor, tears spilling down your cheeks, “I shouldn’t have to worry about bein’ killed cause of who I love.” 

“Oh, darlin’. Come ‘ere,” Arthur moved forward to kneel in front of you and pull you into a tight hug. You buried your face against the crook of his neck and clung to him. He hushed you softly as he held you, letting you regain your composure. After a few moments, you pulled away and wiped your nose with the back of your hand with a sniffle, “Sorry.”

Arthur was staring at your free hand, running the pads of his thumbs over your split knuckles lightly. You watched him clench and unclench his jaw and when he looked up at you, there was a glint in his eye that reminded you of a rabid animal. His voice was low and gruff when he spoke, “I’m gonna kill him.” 

You stayed silent and he reached up to brush across the purple bruise flowering on your cheek. His touch lowered to graze across your split lip and when he spoke again, it was laced with fury and determination, “I swear to god, I’m gonna kill Micah Bell if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.” 


End file.
